Pirouette
by hauntedd
Summary: Blair, Chuck and that connection they can't seem to define. -- this is a series of loosely related vignettes based on songs off of The Rolling Stones’ Exile on Main Street and Liz Phair’s Exile in Guyville Blair/Chuck; TV series based.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Pirouette  
Rating: T  
Disclaimer: Gossip Girl is the property of the CW & some dialogue is borrowed from episode 1x7, based entirely on the TV Series  
Spoilers: Through Victor, Victrola  
Summary: Blair, Chuck and that night at Victrola -- this is the first in what will likely be a series of loosely related vignettes based on songs off of The Rolling Stones' Exile on Main Street and Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville

AN: For Sara, who is to blame/credit for me writing in yet another fandom, and Aleah who is my constant sounding board

* * *

He runs to tell her first, newspaper review in hand and an impish grin on his face. It's an impulsive move, one of many that make his days blend to nights seamlessly, but he masks it by telling himself it's because she's the most likely to find it repugnant. But for whatever reason, her full lips don't thin into a frown, and she agrees to accompany him to Victrola. 

The ride is filled with snide comments and awkward pauses, a fitting substitute for what he assumes, would be small talk. They don't dare cross that invisible line in the proverbial sand that would make them _friends_ instead of _acquaintances_, it's all about keeping up appearances, and they're two of the best. But in one of the many pregnant pauses that follow the stop and start of traffic at early rush hour, he finds himself reflecting on one of the many stories that Nate has woven about her -- where she's reckless, angry, unhinged, and not the poster child for the junior league. It's a private moment in time he's only privy to second hand.

As he sips on his rum and coke, mildly embarrassed that he enjoys the sweet taste of such a pedestrian drink -- something he blames on his father's middle class beginnings, Chuck gives her a wry smile. It's strange to know someone as well as he knows Blair, without truly knowing her at all.

------------------

Blair feels out of place the second that she steps inside. She's been to a number of tawdry places back when the only **D** in S's life was _drinking_, but this is the first time that she feels that her inexperience is on display. It's a cacophony of sight and sound that screams **virgin** at her from every angle. But she's not one to back down from a challenge, so she puts on her best _Holly Golightly_ and follows Chuck down the hallway.

"You want your dad to invest in a strip joint? How Midtown," she scoffs, a coy smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she watches emotions play across Chuck's face. It's much easier to deal with her own discomfort by inflicting the same treatment on someone else, and the fact that she's succeeded makes Blair _extremely_ satisfied.

"A burlesque club," he corrects, his exuberance betraying the annoyed look he shoots her. "A respectable place where people can be transported to another time. Where they can feel free to let loose with no judgement. Pure escape. What happens at Victrola stays at Victrola."

It's a sales pitch, and she knows it. But it's rare that Chuck gets excited about anything other than tainting the freshmen girls at Constance Billard's so she's willing to indulge him. If for nothing else, it's another thing to add to the growing list of things that Nate owes her for, since he failed to show up this afternoon.

"Well, it does have franchise potential," she drawls, like she's appraising something that Isabel and Kati have put together. "Chuck Bass I do believe all your years of underage boozing and womanizing have paid off! I'm proud." She's laughing now and he smirks at her in appreciation, this is what they do best, sarcastic banter that passes the time between events that their parents force them to attend.

"And you are my toughest critic, well, second toughest," Chuck states, and she feels her cheeks redden slightly from what, she expects, is the closest to a compliment she'll ever get from him. It's in these rare moments that Chuck Bass seems entirely human and not at all like the asshole he makes himself out to be, when everyone is watching.

"So you think your father will go with it?" She already knows what his answer will be, but Blair needs something to distract her from her current train of thought and this is the easiest way to accomplish that.

Appearances _may_ be deceiving, but each of them have their roles to play.

"It is exactly the kind of innovative thinking upon which the Bass empire was built. It's perfect. I've been waiting for this." His cockiness breaks the moment and she lets out a breath that she doesn't know she's holding. With a single look at her watch, she realizes the time and blanches. They both have a dinner to get to, and if the elusive Gossip Girl has taught her one thing, it's that the masses can't be kept waiting.

--------------

"Where's Nate?" he asks the moment she steps out of the town car all alone, wrapped in strings of pearls, both real and cheap imitations, but an equal mixture of white and black. It's a nod to the 90's monochromatism that would look dull on anyone other than her, but he doesn't bother to compliment her. Even if it's his night of triumph, he would never dare -- it's not his way.

"I think we just broke up," she explains, as if it's something that she can rush through without pause.

"What?" He's unable to keep the shock from his voice as he stares at her, wide eyed in disbelief. He knows their problems, and has witnessed more than one first hand, but it's never occurred to him that they would be anything other than a fucked up version of happily ever after.

"I don't want to talk about it. I just want to escape." There's a desperation in Blair's voice that he can't quite touch. A hitch in her voice that masks her tears with the coolness of determination, but he doesn't dwell on it. He's never been the shoulder to cry on, and he doesn't want to be -- Chuck knows that most of the time, his sex is comfort enough.

"That's what this place is for, right?" She questions and he hopes that he doesn't look as stunned as he feels. Blair looks at him for a moment like a six year old in her mother's Chanel, broken and unsure before burying her little girl lost under an accusatory smirk and a glint in her eye.

For a moment, he's certain her lips look as red as the apple he's sure Adam got from Eve, but he brushes away the thought as he leads her to his table and motions for another bottle of Dom.

As much as temptation ruins him on a regular basis, she's still the only girl off limits to him. And although he's asked for details of the event more than once, Chuck doesn't think he'd find her virginity a welcome trophy in his little black book that isn't quite so little these days.

So he pours her a glass and sits a respectable distance from her, resigning himself to being the consummate gentleman for the time being. But he's no Archibald and the curiosity of the fractured fairy tale of Nate and Blair eats at him while the dances grow more and more cliched.

"I know you don't want to talk about what happened, but," he doesn't finish. She doesn't let him and Chuck knows that he doesn't have to -- years of conversations held in silence has trained them both to be attuned to the connotation of simple phrases.

"Relief. I feel relief," she snaps into her champagne. It's her fourth glass and his fifth, the contrasts of his celebration and her desolation are making for an interesting evening. If this were any other day, and if he were inclined to compare life to art, she'd be the _Mona Lisa_ and he'd be _The Scream_, but tonight they're both people. Flawed and bumbling through the end of their adolescence, checklists in hand, and determined to make the most of it.

Fuck, is he really having a moment with_Blair Waldorf_? Chuck rolls his eyes and muses that his elation and the alcohol running through his veins is making him far drunker than he thought.

"You know I've got moves," Blair says finally, breaking the comfortable silence that has settled between the two of them as the dancers continue to sway to a song that seems more _strip joint_ and less _burlesque club_.

He doesn't believe her, but it doesn't stop him from imagining what it might look like.

"Really, then why don't you get up there," he asks, leaning into her, making sure to breathe _just so_. He's done this hundreds of times before, and the escapism around him is infectious. So he finds himself eying the soft curls of her perfect locks, wondering if his dark Rapunzel will truly let down her hair and indulge him for the night.

"No, I'm just saying I have moves," Blair laughs at his proposition, but he doesn't miss the envy that follows her words.

"Come on you're ten times hotter than any of those girls," Chuck purrs, hoping to provoke her enough to get her on stage. She might have been Nate's but the night is still his, and hadn't he been the one to say that what happens at Victrola stays there?

"I know what you're doing Bass," she stops him with a glare, which he returns with feigned innocence. Somehow between glasses four and five she's forgotten that he's not Serena or one of her other minions that she keeps around for scenarios like this.

Of course, he doesn't remind her of this and instead continues to reflect doubt back at her, because between his fifth and sixth glasses the game has changed and he's the cat who is about to trap his mouse.

"You really don't think I'll go up there," Blair scoffs, her brazenness masking her annoyance at his doubt.

"I know you won't do it," he returns, knowing full well that those six words will have the desired effect. Blair _hates_ being pigeonholed as much as Serena, she's just much better at hiding it.

"Guard my drink." It's a command, not a request and he grins appreciatively and motions toward the stage as she gets up from the sofa. The red heels of her Louboutins that peek out salaciously as she makes her way toward the stage mirror the scarlet of her lips and Chuck realizes that his night of triumph is _far_ from over.

----------------

The city lights blur as she continues to ride out the remnants of her Victrola-induced high from the back of Chuck's limo. She's still in her ivory slip and far more confident than she felt hours ago. Something, at any other time, she'd blame solely on champagne, but she knows far more now than she did _then_ and for the first time she feels comfortable in her own skin.

"Thanks for the lift home," she breathes, though her eyes convey so much more than she can express in words. It's an awkward, ephemeral experience that she doesn't dare mangle with drunken comprehension of the English language. But as Chuck stares at her, Blair is certain that he understands exactly what she is trying to say.

"You were amazing up there," Chuck responds, and she finds herself inching closer to him, dark eyes meeting his, and if she couldn't feel her heart beating wildly in her chest, she'd think she was dreaming. Within seconds, her lips meet his and she shuts her eyes, reveling in the feel of his mouth, which seems much softer than she'd expected.

Chuck pulls away from her and meets her gaze, his lust barely tamed as he looks at her like she's a precious gift, and not an obligation. While she has no basis for comparison, Blair is almost certain that he's never looked at another girl quite like he's looking at her. Her suspicions are confirmed when he gently asks her, "You sure?"

She responses by kissing him again, passionately this time, like the sex kitten she wishes she was and hopes to be, eventually. Chuck responds in kind, possessively raking his hands up and down her body as he shuts the divider, blocking out the city that defines both their lives.

Her mind drifts to her last words to Nate, her brazen declaration that she didn't quite believe at the time -- _I don't need you_. Now, she realizes that she was right all along, she doesn't need Nate, not really, but she does need to be loved. And while this probably _isn't_, he thinks that she's **amazing** and right now, that's enough.

Because, here, in this space, she is just Blair and he is just Chuck, and they're both two people fumbling toward something that they both need, but can't quite define.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thank you so much for the FB!! Some of the dialogue is borrowed from episode 1x8

* * *

Blair gets up early, her hangover an afterthought in the wake of the soreness between her legs. It's a lingering reminder of the events of last night that she can't string together in anyway other than a motion blur of pleasure and escapism. The warm water gently brings her into waking, and no matter how hard she scrubs, Blair can't seem to get the imprints of Chuck's touch off her skin.

Frowning as she lathers her curls in Fekkai, the hint of apple cider reminds her of the appletini she's convinced did her in, Blair compares Chuck to the devil and wonders if she's sold her soul completely or if she can still find redemption. Because no matter how good it felt, and no matter how much her treacherous body craves another moment, she's had a plan for years and this was a massive deviation.

Stepping out of the shower, she spots Dorota's rosary lying on the dresser and turns the corners of her mouth up into a smile. She's never been one to accept her fate lying down, and knows what she must do. Rushing around her room with renewed determination, she puts together the perfect outfit.

Blair knows that divine intervention is the only way she's going to be able to cure her growing Bass habit.

--

He's been up all night, refusing to sleep in fear that when he wakes up none of this will have happened. He'll be the lecher, and she'll be virtue personified, the exquisite fruit that he can't seem to reach, no matter how close it dangles in front of him.

Chuck scowls as he catches a strand of chocolate blowing in the wind, realizing where he is and who is making an exit. He rubs his eyes and asks the driver to slow, his nightmare has been given life.

He knows she doesn't see him, too filled with what he can only assume is all the godliness that her more than generous tithing can buy. Chuck doesn't mind, though, the element of surprise has always been his to exploit, and he will certainly use it to his advantage.

The car slows to a snail's pace and he slides down the window, masking the pounding of his heart with the coolness that he's perfected in his sixteen years as Bart Bass' son. Blair might have affected him more than he'd ever care to mention, but he would not relinquish his upper hand without a fight.

"Well, this is the last place I'd expect to find you," he grins in greeting, gleeful that he saw a hint of desire flicker momentarily in her eyes.

"Go away Chuck. I've been given orders practically by God himself to avoid you," Blair snaps, her icy delivery doing nothing to quell his desire.

"Would you consider avoiding me over breakfast?"

He's proud of his delivery and the smile that plays on her lips, a small victory in what he's fairly certain will be a war for Blair's heart. He blanches for a moment and wonders when it became about that, or has that always been what he's doing _this_ for.

"Sorry, but it's a tradition on the day before my birthday. I'm going to the jewelers to put some pieces on hold for Eleanor and N..."

"Nate?" he finishes, a wry grin splaying across his face, like he's finally discovered the meaning for life and it's in front of his face. "Something tells me he won't be singing happy birthday this year."

"No one knows that Nate and I broke up, and it's gonna stay that way so I can fix this, and I don't think your best friend would be your best friend if he knew."

"If he knew how much i enjoyed the removal of a certain chastity belt from the back of this very limo?" Chuck questions, deciding to go for a different approach. Blair hasn't yet realized that the night wasn't caused merely by the smell of victory and the champagne, he'd picked a side long before the first bit of satin slipped from her shoulder.

"From this moment forward, the events of last night will never be mentioned again, is that clear?"

"As clear as the memory of you purring in my ear which I have been playing over and over and over," he drawls, delighting in the frustrated yearning that comes to the surface of Blair's brown eyes before being forced back behind her icy veneer and years of restraint.

"Well, erase the tape! As far as I'm concerned it never happened."

Chuck doesn't bother to dignify that with a response. No matter how hard either of them try to fight it, they both know that it did happen and resistance is futile. Instead, he gives her a pointed look and says, "I'll see you at your party tonight."

"You're officially uninvited," Blair snaps, and his eyes follow her as she marches down the street, her hips swaying with every angry step.

His frustration bubbles to the surface as he watches her refuse to look back, as if he's already becoming that mistake of her foolish youth. Finally, he leans out the window and calls out, "It's never stopped me before!"

--

It kills her that Nate's not here. She's spent her entire day building up to this moment, Nate's kind words causing the optimism that she has tried so hard to bury after hundreds of disappointments over the past year. But with every passing second, Nate's words are getting softer as Chuck's compliments take their place, ushered in by her lingering doubts about all things Archibald.

_You were amazing._

No one's ever said that about her before, Serena's always been the one to shock and awe, while she's been on the sidelines, prim and proper with a calculated grin. The untouchable queen who never got to be _just a girl_ until Victrola.

But unlike what Chuck promised, nothing that happened there stayed there, and they're fumbling through the fallout.

"You ready for your present?" Chuck whispers and she feels her heart leap from her chest. She hadn't been expecting him, but now that he's here she's remembering the hundreds of reasons why he is the reason she'd stray from the path she's outlined since first grade and followed faithfully for eleven years now.

Startled, she snakes her hand into his hair, realizing that this is far too natural for her liking, and pulls _hard_.

"Ow, if you wanted to play rough all you had to do was ask?" Chuck leers, his breath warm as it hits her chest, and it takes all the restraint she has to keep her voice G-rated when she greets some of her guests.

"You nauseate me," she spits, releasing her hold and watches, satisfied as he tries to straighten his hair.

"All this talk about how you have to be with Nate or the world will end," Chuck says, mocking her, his gaze dangerous as he dips lower, his face close to hers as he whispers, "Face it, it's over."

"You sound like a jealous boyfriend," Blair states, tacking a step backward as she struggles to remember a prayer of chastity, but can only come up with a botched version of _The Nicene Creed_. It would be so easy, too easy, to just give in right now, but she knows that it'd go nowhere good.

She watches as Chuck struggles with how to respond, a million emotions playing across his face until he finally scoffs, "Yeah, right. You wish."

She chokes back the confession that threatens to escape with an awkward laugh, amused by the throwback to playground insults. "No, you wish."

"Please you forget who you're talking to."

She rolls her eyes at that, brushing a stray curl off of her face to emphasize the point. He might be a Bass but she's a Waldorf, and she's proven her resilience in more ways than he could even imagine. "So do you."

There's a quick pause as she gazes into his eyes, unsure why she's about to open Pandora's box. "Do you like me?"

"Define like," Chuck responds, his eyes burning into her skin and Nate is an afterthought as the truth keeps coming closer to the surface. This isn't something that they **do**, this isn't who they **are**, and Blair feels like a fish out of water, unsure which way is up or down.

She's laughing now, unable to come to terms with the absurd situation she's found herself after one too many cocktails. "You have got to be kidding. I do not believe this!"

"How do you think I feel? I haven't slept! I feel sick! It's like there's something in my stomach fluttering."

"Butterflies?" she squeaks, her own stomach doing flip flops as she continues to listen to him. It'd be so easy to close the divide, but she can't. What would people think? So Blair steps backwards and declares that it can't happen, as if this were a discussion between Isabel, Kati and Hazel, where her word could end any and all discussion.

"No one is more surprised or ashamed than I am."

"Chuck. You know that I adore all of God's creatures and the metaphors they inspire, but those butterflies have _got_ to be murdered," Blair states, though she knows they won't be and wonders why she's protesting so much in the first place.

"Fine," he agrees, and she knows he's placating her the moment that he leans in, his lips finding her ear as he whispers, "It wasn't that great anyway."

"Thanks," Blair smirks, their moment over, but his words remain, enveloping her in the lonely corner. This is so not according to the plan, but she can't help but think that it's nicer and more authentic than anything Nate has ever said to her.

--

He hasn't been able to keep his eyes off of her ever since their conversation, the resigned sadness that has become a permanent part of her posture more evident around all of the revelry. She's exquisite, and while she knows it, her vulnerabilities are more obvious now, which makes her even more appealing.

"Stalk me much?" Blair greets him, her annoyance palpable as he leans on the railing next to her, the city illuminated behind them.

"What are you still doing up here all alone?" He asks, already fairly certain of the answer. Nate hasn't shown up. Chuck isn't surprised, given the role he played in helping to ensure the outcome, but seeing her upset is cracking the joy of getting what he wants.

"I don't know where Nate is and he always calls me at midnight when it turns into my birthday," Blair sniffles, stepping away from him, refusing to take comfort in his arms.

"Well, I wouldn't count on it tonight. Doesn't it strike you as a just little bit of a coincidence, the timing of everything?"

Chuck knows what he's doing, though he hates himself for it. It's been a long time coming, and it's time that she step out of the movie script version of her own life and join him in the real world. So when she looks up at him with watery eyes and asks what he means, he decides to rip the band-aid off in one fell swoop.

"Well, Nate suddenly decides that he wants to get back with you just moments after your mom puts the breaks on her deal with the Captain?"

She's quiet for a moment, her lips pursed as Blair contemplates what he's trying to say. "So, you're saying that Nate's pretending to like me and he's actually using me to use me to get to my mother? He wouldn't do that."

He catches the slight hitch in her voice, the first crack in the _happily ever after_ Blair is certain she will possess, because it made sense when she was six and played princess on the playground, waiting for her prince to save her.

"Yes, he would. If it were to help his family you know he would," he twists the knife a little more and though it kills him, Chuck knows it's necessary for both of them to find the happiness he's not so certain either of them deserve.

"Nate loves me. Whatever he's doing, wherever he is, he'll call at midnight, you'll see," Blair returns, though Chuck notices the certainty behind her words has fallen victim to doubts that have always been just under the surface.

"Care to make a wager? If he calls I will leave you alone forever, and if not you'll spend the night with me." Chuck enjoys games, and she does too, so he decides to indulge her adventurous side to get the outcome they both want.

"I will not," she protests and he scowls. This is not how he expected this to go, but he knows the five words that will change her mind.

"I thought you were sure."

"You're gonna lose. he's never missed my birthday," Blair frowns and raises an eyebrow in a challenge, which Chuck mets with a smirk. Challenging the Archibald-Waldorf union will still force Blair into action, which is fine by him, since he will be the victor here.

And he certainly will enjoy the spoils.

--

She's lying in bed, softly shaking as sobs rack her body. Everything has come crashing down, and now Blair is certain that the whole of Constance Billiards will be talking about her earlier display, and the picture on _Gossip Girl_ will be an afterthought. She'd like to blame the tequila shots she'd begun to take, one after another, but Blair knows what it's like to be drunk and that certainly wasn't the alcohol talking.

Something in her keeps on staring at the door, though, hoping that her white knight will come and save her from this embarrassment and restore the frayed edges of the perfect life she's so convinced she has. So when the door opens, Blair holds her breath for a moment, only to release it when it's Chuck who steps through. He's certainly no knight in shining armor and although the clock now reads 12:33 a.m., she's still not in any mood to make good on that stupid bet.

"I'm not in the mood, Chuck. This has been the worst birthday ever," Blair declares, not noticing the hurt that flickers in Chuck's eyes, too willing to indulge herself in her own tragedies.

"Maybe it can be salvaged," Chuck suggests, and she forces back the urge to snap _unlikely _at him, instead taking the proffered gift into her hands, uncertain of his intent.

"Is that our sex tape?" Blair questions as she meets his earnest gaze. It's rare for her to see these kinds of things on Chuck's face and makes her even more uncertain of what, exactly, is happening.

However, she's struck dumb when he opens the box, presenting her with the necklace she'd picked out hours before, his eyes reflecting the diamonds. For a moment, she's sure she saw a future there, though Blair would never admit it.

"It's the Erickson Beamon necklace," Blair states, awed that Chuck is removing it from the box, his hands coming closer to her neck.

"No, I couldn't," she protests, weakly, but even a weak refusal is more than she's ever given before. She doesn't want to be indebted to him, even though there's a voice at the back of her head that says she wouldn't mind.

"Yes, you can," Chuck argues and she is too stunned by the tenderness in his voice to mount a rebuttal. She feels the jewels fall delicately onto her neck, the cool metal that binds them unnoticed as she catches a reflection of the two of them together in the mirror. It looks like an old habit, though it isn't, and while she knows she should be fighting it, Blair suddenly doesn't want to.

"Something this beautiful deserves to be seen on someone worthy of its beauty," Chuck whispers, his lips inches from hers as he confesses, "I really am sorry."

Blair meets his gaze, her eyes glassy and her cheeks marred with tear tracks, and takes his hand, thumbing the calloused skin as he lowers his face to her shoulder.

Before she can submit to reason, Blair gently finds Chuck's lips, pressing her mouth to his in thanks. He responds in kind, more aggressive, and she likes it.

Warmth spreads throughout her as she continues peppering him with kisses, Chuck's skilled hands drawing needy circles on her back. Blair smiles against his mouth as they continue to find comfort in one another. Because once all the drama and context have been stripped away, she is just a girl and he is just a boy and they are just two people who need one another more than either of them can express in words and phrases.

And as Blair falls to the bed, Chuck rolling on top of her, she knows that her true birthday wish has, in fact, come true, because for the first time in a long time, Blair Waldorf feels loved and safe in her own skin.


End file.
